And now there weren’t many left. He’d explain it to Doctor Chalmers. She’d understand. She’d known Maggie since she was a baby; when she’d come to the house to see him and Sandra and given them the prescription she’d been in tears herself.

He unscrewed the lid and emptied the contents on to his palm. Three left. He felt a rising panic. He’d call Dr Chalmers later and get some more.

‘Hey.’

He turned. Sandra was in the doorway. She was wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt. Her hair was scraped back in a bun and her face was lean.

Gaunt, nearly. She’d lost weight.

They both had. For the first time in years – decades, maybe – he had a flat stomach.

‘Tea?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘Have you got any more of those?’

He showed her the pills in his hand. ‘This is it.’

‘Share?’

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to at all, but he nodded and handed her a pill. Her eyes rested on the two he still had in his palm, the two to her one, but she said nothing. He lifted them to his mouth and swallowed, then took a sip of tea.

‘You’ve not got any left?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘I thought I had more. But they’re gone.’

‘OK,’ he said. ‘We can get more.’ He looked at her, his lip quivering. ‘When will this get better, Sandy? When will it stop hurting so much?’

‘When she’s back.’

For a second he didn’t reply. When he did, the words were ash in his mouth. ‘When she’s back.’

2

Martin sat on the couch, staring into space. The cup of tea in his hand was cold. The living room door opened.

‘Dad,’ James said. ‘I’m going out. With Andy.’

Martin swallowed. This was the second time James had gone out alone. It had been hard to let him, when, two days before, his friend Andy had knocked on the door. They had promised to stay together, and so Martin and Sandra – after giving him one of their mobile phones – had agreed.

Be back at six p.m. Promise.

He had promised, and then come home much earlier than six, pale and strained, and gone straight to his room. Martin had followed and found him curled up on his bed.

OK? he asked.

James nodded. He was crying, softly.

I miss her, he said. I miss her, Dad.

Martin hugged him. Me too, son.

And now he was going out again. Martin didn’t know how he could. He hated leaving the house. Outside, he saw her face in the windows of each bus or car or truck that passed him. Every girl of her age that he saw in a crowd was her. Twice, he had glimpsed someone, and, convinced it was Maggie with a different haircut and new clothes, had run after them.